


Grasp and Grapple

by ItsClydeBitches



Category: Preacher (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Falling In Love, Hands, Holding Hands, Humor, M/M, Prompt Fill, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-23 22:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7481760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsClydeBitches/pseuds/ItsClydeBitches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Jesse reached for Cass’ hand and one time Cass reached for his. Fill for the “Jesse falling for Cass” prompt and the “they probably love each others’ hands don’t they??” conversation in the gc</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grasp and Grapple

**1.**

 

It started in a motel (as so many things do), with two angels watching (the blessing of God), and somehow their audience made it all the more intimate.

 

“C’mon, Cass.”

 

He came, like a dog to heel, and the action was so frighteningly obedient that Jesse felt the need to temper it with something kind. He didn’t know what—sure as hell didn’t plan it—but it came to him anyway, in the swing of his body stepping over corpses, trying to keep his balance in what had quickly become a topsy turvy world.

 

Jesse extended his hand and Cass took it.

 

Long, thin, blemish free, strangely cool given all that they’d done. Jesse was _hot_. He’d fought for over an hour and now his clothes were more sweat than fabric. There was a familiar ache in his limbs and the preacher’s collar positively burned. Before he realized what he was doing Jesse had pressed Cass’ hand to the side of his neck, like some damn, disposable dishrag he’d soaked in cold water.

 

Cass’ hands were dry though, as was his expression. Then it morphed into puppy-dog eyes and an exaggerated pout.

 

“If yeh wanted my hands all over you, padre, all you had to do was ask.”

 

He didn’t ask though, because it suddenly occurred to Jesse that he was standing in the very public hallway of seedy motel, in the middle of a hot, Texan day. He still had his friend’s knuckles pressed to the side of his neck. Cass’ fingers fluttered against his pulse.

 

Then the footsteps of Fiore and DeBlanc filled his ears, reminding Jesse that they weren’t alone.

 

He wondered why he’d _want_ to be alone with Cass. Why he’d sought that alone time the last month or so. Silent solidarity in a church pew or the graveyard at dusk. Preaching and sinning and living—Cass was a constant now.

 

Jesse blinked, dropping the hand. As he booked it outside he heard Cass chuckling; the rough pull of gardening gloves sliding into place.

 

***

**2.**

 

Either due to lack of clothes or lack of modesty, Cass had a tendency to parade around without a shirt on. Jesse didn’t mind (he didn’t?) because it gave him time to admire Cass’ tats: the aesthetic swirls that surely held some meaning, the names that Jesse didn’t have stories to yet.

 

They were outside the church for once, huddled in the shade of one umbrella, asses planted in the dirt. Jesse’s back was pressed against wall and he knew that their usual pew was just a few feet away, hidden by planks of wood. It lent familiarity to the sudden change.

 

“Why here?” he asked, oddly enjoying the discomfort of it all.

 

Feeling offbeat and off-kilter was a Jesse Custer specialty.

 

Cass just hummed in response, something mumbled around the cigarette lodged between his teeth. Jesse waited patiently as he fished a lighter out of his pocket... then chucked it clear across the plain.

 

“The fuck?” Jesse said. He didn’t know if he was more impressed by the spontaneity of the action or the sheer distance that Cass achieved. That poor lighter was just a glint of silver now, too far off to make retrieving it worthwhile.

 

Instead of answering Cass turned to face him, cigarette raising and lowering with every word.

 

“We’re good on the vampire front now, ain’t we?”

 

Jesse nodded, slow. They were. Believing in the supernatural got easier when you had an angel-demon baby living inside you, to say nothing of it’s angel-clone custodians constantly at your back. Believing in vampires specifically got a hell of a lot easier when your friend killed a seraph for the umpteenth time by ripping her throat out and guzzling her blood. Guns and axes and a freaking iron used as a bludgeon, but _that_ was what had horrified Fiore and DeBlanc.

 

It had horrified Jesse too... until that mean little lady appeared again and the fight started all over. Then all Jesse had time for was one quick thought: _He_ did _tell you._

 

“It’s why you’re so damn lazy during the day,” he said, when the silence stretched. “Why you dress like a freaking Alaskan hobo.”

 

“Watch it now, I take great pride in my hobo fashion.” Cass sucked in air, though the cigarette wasn’t lit. “You’re right though. Garlic an’ crosses an’ all that, just shite, but sunlight...” he let out a low whistle. “Hurts like a real bitch, she does,” and without warning Cass extended his arm beyond the umbrella’s protective surface. Jesse watched in morbid fascination as the skin of Cass’ index lit up with fire, quickly spreading over his knuckles, down to his thumb, his palm, soon covering the entirety of his hand.

 

In was beautiful, in the way that anything new and unexpected was beautiful. The fire was clear of smoke and a brighter orange than Jesse had ever seen before. He leaned, hands planted on his knees, mouth open as he just watched it consume, endlessly. It was only when flesh began to blacken and melt that Jesse realized it was _Cass’ hand_ the fire devoured.

 

He grabbed him by the wrist, feeling the heat and tugging Cass so hard he tumbled into his side. Jesse piled on loose dirt until the fire was out, huffing like he’d run a goddamn mile.

 

Cass was just lying there, staring up at him. “Don’t panic on me now.”

 

Jesse stared right back. “Doesn’t that _hurt_?”

 

“Aye.”

 

“Then what the hell, Cass!”

 

He shrugged, looking away. “You get used to it.”

 

Which was when something clicked in the back of Jesse’s mind, hard and sharp, slotting into place. He sat back with a robotic calm, shifting until Cass’ hand was cradled in his lap. Whatever the other man was about to say died on his lips when Jesse took that hand between both of his.

 

It was warm—no shit—but Jesse couldn’t help but marvel at the change because normally Cass was cool to the touch, for reasons Jesse had only recently sorted out. Like a small animal heating his legs, nice and soothing... Jesse could almost forget the actual injury. Until he looked down. Made himself look. Jesse could honestly say that in his long history of violence he hadn’t encountered many burns, preferring the quick shot of a bullet, or the slow pull of hefty pliers. Cass’ hand was a discovery then, one just unusual enough to justify Jesse’s staring.

 

His first thought was that it looked like the freaking Grand Canyon, the weekend his daddy had taken him and Jesse got to see it just as the sun was setting. Dips and unexpected hollows, gorges that started out black before bleeding into red, courtesy of the fading light. That’s what Cass’ hand was. Jesse wondered what it would be like to hike down into his skin.

 

When it started shifting Jesse felt the spiking fear that came with watching good horror movies. When Cass’ flesh started knitting itself back together, he felt relief.

 

“They come back too,” Cass said, thinking that Jesse was memorized by the tattoos. He only really noticed once Cass pointed them out. There was the strange little bird at the base of his thumb, re-growing its wing as sure as Cass regrew muscle and sinew.

 

“It just comes back exactly as it was,” he said. “Would suck otherwise, eh? All those lovely tats, obliterated in a mo,’ just how sad is that? Now my bud Elderoy, poor bastard, he got his boyfriend’s name on his neck and when some wanker threw acid there—”

 

“Don’t you ever hurt yourself like that again,” Jesse interrupted.

 

He didn’t get a chance to see Cass’ face, too busy staring down at that hand. If he had though, Jesse would have seen surprise the likes of which nothing else had managed to stir up in Cass’ many years on earth. Not angels or Genesis or even the vampire that had turned him. It colored his cheeks and lit up his eyes.

 

“Right... right then, padre.”

 

Jesse held Cass’ hand until it was whole once more. He wondered, fleetingly, if the two of them could somehow come together just as easily...

 

But with the flex of Cass’s hand in his, reminding Jesse of its presence, all of that slipped away.

 

***

**3.**

 

“Razor.”

 

“Toothbrush.”

 

“Soap.”

 

“Lotion.”

 

“Lube.”

 

Jesse scoffed, trying to hide his laugh. “You shouldn’t be talkin’ about lube, Chris. Especially with me.”

 

The kid just shrugged, smirking. “I’m right though. Where else you gonna keep it? Bed-side drawer?”

 

“ _Chris_.”

 

“An’ you paused so I win.”

 

“Win what?” asked Cass, sauntering over with a corndog in his hands. Jesse was just about to warn him that Jerry’s corndogs were... _notorious_ for some rather unsanitary reasons, but by then he’d already stuffed half of it into his mouth. Jesse watched Cass’ cheeks bulge with resignation.

 

“Concentration,” he said, then waved away Cass’ confused look. “A kids’ game where you name stuff in a category. Gotta keep up the pace with the hand motions...” Jesse briefly mimed it. Chris just scowled.

 

“You were getting mighty competitive for a ‘kids’ game,’ preacher.”

 

“Mms wolwas molmevative.” Cass grimaced, swallowed his mouthful, tried again. “He’s _always_ competitive. What category were you workin’ from anyway? Dildos?”

 

Jesse choked on air. Chris, realizing it was a serious question, looked upon Cass with a mixture of horror and awe. “Uh...have you actually—?”

 

“Sure, mate. Gotta get creative if you’re gonna live as long as me.”

 

Chris looked like he was working through a particularly difficult math problem. “But... lube...”

 

“Comes in a nice lil’ bottle, eh?” and Cass had the audacity to wink at the boy. Jesse got between them before someone started yelling for child services.

 

“Chris, go help your mom with those hamburgers.”

 

“…Yeah. Sure, preacher.”

 

Cass watched him go, nodding and pointing with the rest of that corndog. “Kid’s gonna go far,” he said. “Didn’ run from the idea. Good to have an open mind about sex at that age. Sets the tone for all the rest, ya hear me?”

 

“I hear you,” Jesse grumbled. Still, he couldn’t help but smile. Cass’ antics were something not exactly common in the uptight town and it often did a world of good to join in. Even now Jesse could feel the tension in his neck and back starting to loosen. That certainly wasn’t the work of the fair.

 

Or “fair,” with all the ironic quotation marks available to him. Once a year in the summer months some brave soul—in this case Emily—pulled their best together for the kids of Annville, generally consisting of shit games the parents came up with, shit music, and, as Cass would soon learn, food that caused shit of the worst kind and proportions. Though hell, with a vampire’s digestive system, who knew what Cass could eat and come out of unscathed.

 

Might be something fun to try sometime...

 

“This is a bit sad, ain’t it?” Cass continued. He gestured to all the flimsy booths set up around the church, hesitating a bit like he honestly didn’t want to offend Jesse. “I mean... the thought sure is lovely an’ all, though the execution, padre...”

 

“Leaves a lot to be desired,” Jesse drawled. “No argument from me. You’ve got your Shoot ‘Em—” he pointed to a booth loaded with rifles, dead squirrels littering the grass. “Hit ‘Em, Skin ‘Em... face painting—thank you, Emily, at least that’s kid friendly—and more than our fair share of greasy foods, which it looks like now I should have warned you about.”

 

Cass had put his hand over his stomach, an unhappy gurgle audible even from where Jesse was sitting. Cass grimaced and let out a massive belch.

 

He tossed the rest of the corndog into the weeds. “Jesus... no kiddin’. No, no, it’s fine. I’m fine. Eaten’ worse than this in my time, lemme tell you.” Even so, Cass let out another belch that carried a rancid stench towards Jesse. He waved his hand in what he hoped was a chastising manner.

 

“What’s that one then?” Cass pointed all the to the farthest booth, the one that had been set up at the very entrance to Annville’s graveyard. Jesse just shook his head.

 

“Ms. Willow,” he said. “Surprised you haven’t encountered her yet. Or that she hasn’t tracked you down, what with you being the newcomer and all. She’s ‘spiritually gifted,’” and this time Jesse made actual air-quotes that pulled a laugh out of Cass. “She sits mostly on family money, but earns extra cash by scamming the other ladies in town, teenage girls, the desperate guys...” Jesse shrugged. “Fake palm readings and stuff.”

 

“Sounds _real_ legit.” Then Cass grinned. “Best check it out, I think.”

 

“Yeah, I—what?”

 

But by then Cass was hauling him up by his shirt and Jesse let out a squawk as he stumbled to his feet, snapping his mouth shut and sending up a quick prayer that no one else had heard that. Cass was all lanky legs and speed, literally dragging him across the dirt and all Jesse could do was sputter along. He caught Emily’s eye over at the face painting and sent her a rather panicked look.

 

She just waved back. Traitor.

 

“Here we are,” Cass sang. He plopped down in the rickety chair and shoved Jesse into the other, nearly toppling him in the process. To Ms. Willow’s credit she didn’t appear perturbed. She simply blinked at them and smiled her syrupy smile.

 

Cass grinned, wiggling. He made to put his feet up on her table until Jesse smacked his leg. “Alright, alright—we’d like our fortunes read and such. Please,” he added.

 

“I know,” Ms. Willow whispered. “I’ve been expecting you both.”

 

Jesse rolled his eyes. Cass snickered.

 

“If you would,” she continued, undaunted, and both boys were thrown when she didn’t extend her hand for theirs, but rather gestured for Jesse to take Cass’. “The reading is stronger if done by... acquaintances.”

 

Jesse panicked briefly—acquaintances? Is that what they were? Why had she said it like _that_?—but when Cass just turned towards him Jesse sat up, reaching out slow enough that Cass could pull away.

 

He didn’t though. He crossed the distance.

 

Cass’ hand was as cool and dry as Jesse remembered. The fact that he was cataloguing memories sent an unexpected shiver shooting down his spine.

 

Ms. Willow leaned over the table to see them clearly. Her voice was low and soothing. Almost hypnotic.

 

“Trace his lifeline, Preacher. That’s right. Nice and slow—you want the energy to flow out naturally. Don’t pull it. Never force it...”

 

Jesse wanted to snort at her words, maybe throw in a derisive comment just ambiguous enough for her to shrug off, but whatever he might have said died at the feeling of Cass’ hand in his—a returning feeling that Jesse hadn’t expected to crave so much. He traced his own, lightly trembling fingers over Cass’ palm at Willow’s command, though Jesse quickly lost track of what she was saying. He was too caught up in everything connected to that hand that Jesse hadn’t paid much attention to before: the bone protruding from Cass’ skinny wrist, the fine hairs of his arm, how his over-large shirt shifted with every breath, the soft smile he held only for Jesse—

 

What?

 

“Fascinating,” Willow said, jarring Jesse from his thoughts. He was still looking at Cass and Cass was looking at him and they only looked away when Willow cleared her throat.

 

“This is perhaps the most varied and deep reading I’ve seen in some time,” she murmured. “The two of you will go on a long journey together—a _life changing_ journey—rather soon, in fact. A woman will be at your side... as well as a man seeped in duplicity. Do not trust him. But you should gain the alliance of the man far older than he seems and assist the child with the weary soul of an elder. There will be trails, there will be blood... but the both of you will come out the stronger for it. That I can promise.” Willow clapped her hands.

 

Cass was staring wide-eyed, looking too close to laughing for Jesse’s liking. Even he wasn’t that mean. It was his turn to haul Cass up by his shirt and drag him away.

 

“Thank you, Ms. Willow,” he said. “I’ll, uh... be sure to send some lunch over.”

 

“That would be lovely, Preacher, thank you.”

 

It was only when they were far enough away that Cass leaned in close—Jesse hyper-aware of the hand pressed to his lower back—and whispered with a devilish grin,

 

“Well. She got the blood part right, didn’ she?’”

 

***

**4.**

 

“This…this is… freakin’ _bollocks_ , this is…it.. mmf.”

 

“And who’s fault is that exactly?”

 

Cass didn’t give a coherent answer. He just grumbled and mashed his face harder into passenger window, rubbing it there like that would somehow make this situation better. The rest of him was huddled in a ratty pair of sweats, shirt, and the blanket Jesse had found stuffed under the backseat. It was one of those rare cold nights, where the temperature said ‘fuck it’ and dropped a mile before rising high the next morning. Normally Jesse wouldn’t be caught dead out of his bed in this... except that he’d gotten a call from Laura.

 

Laura of the Toadvine whorehouse. ‘Take No Shit’ Laura. Laura of infinite patience who called, with a real grind in her voice, claiming that she’d kicked a client to the curb because he was drunk as a skunk and fresh out of cash. Didn’t take Jesse more than second to figure out who that “client” was.

 

Why she’d called _him_ to pick Cass up... that bore some consideration.

 

All in all it wouldn’t have been a terrible outing (Jesse was certainly used to keeping odd hours), except for the cold... and the fact that his damn truck had broken down halfway back.

 

Jesse rammed his knee up into the steering wheel. Fat lot of good that did, but it did make him feel a little better. Cass just whined to his right and tried to curl into a tighter ball. Jesse noted the shivering.

 

“Aren’t you vamps supposed to be immune to this stuff?” he asked, trying to fill the silence.

 

“... no?” and it came out as a confused question, like Cass honestly couldn’t remember how or why his body worked the way it did. How much booze and drugs it had taken to get him to this point Jesse didn’t know, and frankly he didn’t think he wanted to find out. Whatever was left of Cass’ faculties were slowly eroding from cold and Jesse was sure he would have otherwise passed out by now.

 

Instead he just bitched something that sounded suspiciously like “ _do something_ ” and Jesse would have scoffed if his chest hadn’t gotten so damn tight.

 

“C’mere, you bastard...”

 

He never would have done it if he hadn’t been half out of his mind with the need to sleep. Or if it wasn’t an oddly ethereal night. Or if they weren’t out on a literal, abandoned road. Or, or, or. It didn’t matter because Jesse _did_ take Cass into his arms, dragging him across the car’s middle and halfway into his lap. The man was pure deadweight, but he curled into Jesse nonetheless, instinctively seeking heat. He settled there and Jesse was still as stone.

 

Except for his hand, finding Cass’ in the mess of blankets like it couldn’t bear to keep away. His fingers were freaking ice-cubes now and Jesse hissed, thinking it must be something with the drugs and the fact that Cass was just an overall skinny asshole. Jesse didn’t realize he was raising that hand to his lips and blowing warm air until it was too late.

 

“Shit,” he muttered.

 

Cass just drooled against his chest, gone for now.

 

No sense trying to stay here until morning, at least that was the justification Jesse gave, something to get him up and moving and away from that moment. It took a fair bit of wrangling, but eventually he was able to get the now unconscious Cass wrapped around his back—Jesse’s arms under his legs and the blanket thrown over Cass, secured under Jesse’s armpits. He could only imagine the picture they made if anyone bothered looking out their window.

 

And yet... Jesse didn’t think he cared.

 

Though he did care when halfway back to the church he froze mid-step, eyes wide and horrified, a wet patch spreading across his back—and the thick stench of urine as Cass’ bladder let go.

 

“ _Oh_ ,” Jesse seethed to the night. “You are fucking _lucky_ I love you.”

 

It was only hours later that he realized what he’d said. The rest of the trip was spent cursing Cass, jostling Cass...and watching those hands draped before Jesse’s chest.

 

***

**5.**

 

Jesse didn’t know what the hell he was doing there. Which was something awful considering it was _his_ church.

 

Tyron and Julia were finally getting hitched, after a longer courtship than even the folks of Annville were used to. A military mother on one side and an overly doting father on the other would do that. Yet today was the day, Jesse just couldn’t understand why they were getting married in the church when they were some of the few damn atheists in the whole town.

 

...To be fair, there weren’t that many large, public buildings, so.

 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Jesse muttered to Sheriff Root, the two of them awkwardly flanking the doors. Julia’s mother had said something about being _so_ grateful for the church and _so_ happy he was joining them and _so_ thrilled that he was doing this. Jesse just hadn’t grasped what the “this” part was yet.

 

“I’m not supposed to say anything...godly, right?”

 

Root smiled widely at the approaching guests, all teeth and strain. “Nah. If you don’t mind me sayin’, Preacher, just keep your mouth shut, shake the mens’ hands, kiss the women’s cheeks, and let ‘em pass through. Quicker we do that, the quicker we get this all over with.” He startled. “Uh... no offense to the couple.”

 

Jesse nodded. “No, I get it. You sound like you’ve done this before.”

 

“Commendation ceremonies. Basically the same thing.”

 

They both had just enough time to stifle their snickers before the guests started flooding the steps.

 

Jesse took Root’s advice. It wasn’t like he had anything else to do. As said, they’d get through this part and then he was simply obligated to stand in the back as Julia and Tyron exchanged their own vows, seeing as he wouldn’t be officiating. So Jesse shook every man’s hand with a mighty pump, gave the women dry pecks on their cheeks, and ruffled the kids’ hair for extra measure. He was feeling like a right, good greeter by the time they were halfway through.

 

Until Cass showed up.

 

Jesse was honestly struck dumb by the figure, not even recognizing it as Cass at first. Where the man had gotten a suit for his skinny-ass frame would be a mystery for the ages, but _fuck_ could he pull it off. Polished shoes too. Cufflinks. He used a black umbrella to keep the sun at bay, which he somehow managed to make work with the outfit. Jesse only just recovered when Cass was a foot away, that grin in place, clearly having seen how everyone else had been greeted and waiting for his result.

 

Which was when Jesse realized the predicament: what was he gonna do? Shake Cass’ hand? After that brief intro in the jail cell they’d given that up; they weren’t the shaking hands type. Besides, it all felt too... formal for Jesse’s liking. He didn’t want to act like Cass was one of these no-name acquaintances.

 

He was more than that.

Jesse wanted more.

 

Hell in a hand basket… Jesse stood on a wedding day not his own and said loud and clear, if only to himself, _I want more from Cassidy._

 

The same Cass who now shuffled before him, wary as a—ha—sinner in church. He’d lowered the umbrella in the shade of the entryway, but he could only fiddle with it for so long, just waiting for Jesse to do something. The people piling up in the back were actually beginning to whisper: What’s going on? Did they fight? Why is that Irishman still _here_?

 

Jesse drowned them all out.

 

That’s what it was like, a tidal wave rushing every other sound out of his ears, blue light blotting out everything but Cass. Jesse took a step forward and didn’t know what he was doing until he was raising his hand. He couldn’t shake Cass’... yet a kiss on the cheek didn’t feel right either. Too common and patronizing. Instead Jesse bent slightly at the waist, one arm behind his back in the perfect half-bow his father had been careful to teach him. He lifted Cass’ hand by the fingers, all the way up to his mouth, and Jesse dragged his lips across the ridges of Cass’ knuckles.

 

You could have heard a pin drop in the town of Annville, everyone inside the church and out staring at their preacher with the wide-eyed look of the truly baffled. Cass, after a moment of shock, looked baffled and _thrilled_.

 

Jesse stepped back with a cough. Root was the first to break the silence.

 

“Hot _damn_ , Preacher.”

 

***

 

**+1**

 

It ended in a church (as theirs always would), with no one watching (good riddance), and Jesse was still a good three bottles away from being drunk.

 

He’d just have to pick up the pace.

 

Cass understood, handing out beers and cigarettes like candy, watching Jesse’s hand wrap around each and his lips find purchase, sometimes missing as his hands continued to tremble. They’d been doing that since the kiss. Through the wedding and the gossip that rivaled the day’s bride and groom, something Cass might have felt bad about... except he _loved_ those hands, even shaking as they were. Strong and broad from hard labor, kinder than he would have ever bet on. Cass smiled as Jesse stretched his fingers, perhaps remembering the feeling of theirs curled together.

 

“What?” Jesse grumbled, noticing the smile. “Got something to say?”

 

“Oh yeah. Lots of things I’d like to say.”

 

“... get on with it then.”

 

Cass nearly laughed aloud at the terror hidden in those words, the all-encompassing fear of judgment. But for once in his goddamn life Cass found a filter and remembered that not everyone had the kind of ‘fuck ‘em’ mentality he tried to cultivate. Not everyone had decades to come to terms with shit like sexuality either. Certainly not Jesse.

 

So Cass merely stood, sauntering over towards Jesse laid out in his pew. Cass took the deepest breath of his life and extended his hand.

 

“Stuff I gotta tell you is mostly done in the bedroom, padre. If we’re bein’ traditional an’ all...”

 

Cass didn’t really believe in miracles.

 

But Jesse’s fingers interlacing with his might have been the damn closest thing.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Feel free to stop by my tumblr (itsclydebitches) and send me a prompt!]


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